His Hardest Case
by quillandink13
Summary: S H E R L O L L Y AND SPOILERS READ AFTER YOU HAVE SEEN THE THIRD SEASON Sherlock and John pick up a case that has Sherlock slightly perplexed - what John doesn't know is that the consulting criminal is alive. And to make everything more difficult - Molly. Molly Hooper has somehow worked her way into Sherlock's life and is making it hard for him to be a sociopath.
1. Chapter 1

***catches Sherlock mid Reichenbach fall* LET THE FANFICTION BEGIN.**

**Sorry had to get that out of my system. Welcome to my Sherlolly fanfic with Sherlockian-ness thrown in the whole time. It's basically what I want the first episode of season four to be. A girl can hope. I hope you enjoy!**

_Jim Moriarty._

The name jerked Sherlock from his light sleep. _Jim Moriarty. _

He blinked the name away. It was much to early to gain a headache from the consulting criminal. The same consulting criminal that was supposed to be dead. Yes, the same consulting criminal that shot himself through the head right in front of Sherlock and was now living. Just scratching the surface of the mystery made Sherlock grimace.

So he shook himself from the thoughts and stood from his bed, padding into the kitchen and looking around. John wasn't up yet – that was odd. John was always up before him. Perhaps he had gone out.

All he needed was a glance at the coat hanger to confirm his theory. Probably gone to get milk or other petty necessities.

Sherlock pulled his blue robe around him and sat down in his chair, legs pulled up to his chin. His mind swirled with a million thoughts about their current case. _Blood on the body, but not on the clothes. Murderer changed the corpse? Why go through the trouble?_

A light knock echoed off the door. Sherlock knit his eyebrows together, but said nothing. The door opened a crack.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" a small voice called through the opening. Sherlock sighed, and Molly's head popped into view. She grinned.

"Oh! Hello, Sherlock. I wasn't expecting you to be up."

Sherlock grunted in reply. Molly let herself in and closed the door again, wringing her hands in the nervous way she always did in Sherlock's presence. Sherlock looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"I just came to tell you some news – I mean, I think you'll find it lovely but it's really quite grim. Then again, that's how you normally think of all things-"

"Are you aware you are rambling." Sherlock asked, but did not really pose it as a question. Molly shut her mouth and played with the sleeve of her lab coat. Sherlock finally met her eyes, the dark brown color quickly darting to a much more interesting object in the room. He waited another moment before speaking.

"What did you come here for?"

"Oh! Oh yes, of course…" Molly tucked an imaginary piece of hair behind her ear. "I've found –"

Sherlock's phone rang on the table. He grabbed it and answered.

"Sherlock – there's been another one. " Lestrade said on the other end. Sherlock instantly sat at attention.

"Where. Tell me where."

"I was supposed to take you there, actually." Molly said, now fiddling with a button on her coat. Sherlock stared at her for a moment.

"Well then why are you calling me?" he said into the phone. Lestrade sighed.

"Because –"

"Oh never mind why…" Molly said, waving her hand dismissively. Lestrade stopped talking on the speaker.

"Yes, Molly's right. She'll take you to the right spot."

And with that, Sherlock hung up. He squinted at the girl in front of him, trying to deduce her reasoning. Molly sighed.

"Really now, are you going to stare or are you going to follow me to the scene?"

Sherlock jumped up, wiggling free from the robe and shouldering his coat over the pinstriped pajama bottoms. "Let's go then."

As the exited the building, Molly led him in the opposite direction of Bart's. He thought for a moment.

"You saw the body. You saw it on your way to work and phoned the police. Lestrade arrived and was going to phone me, wasn't he? But you came to get me instead. Peculiar."

Molly stared at him as they walked, her eyes wide. Sherlock scoffed.

"Please. You people always look so surprised."

There was a pause.

"Lestrade sent me to get you, actually." Molly said simply. And before another deduction could be made, Molly made a sharp turn into an alleyway. A police car was parked on the curb, lights flashing. Lestrade stood with Sergeant Donovan over a body. "Here we are. Have at it then."

She turned to go when Sherlock clasped her wrist. He could feel her pulse racing, but paid no attention. Her infatuation with him was evident to the simplest of minds.

"I want you to try and deduce this body today, Molly. You've improved after spending so much time with me."

Molly blushed. Sherlock had indeed spent time with her in her own flat while he was 'dead'. Some of his Sherlock-ness had probably rubbed off on mousy Molly, along with the fact that he taught her basics.

"I- oh goodness, I – I don't think I can-"

"Just do it."

Molly took a breath and walked to the body. Lestrade blinked in surprise, but when Sherlock wasn't looking, the corners of his mouth tipped up. Sergeant Donovan stepped back.

"Have at him, freak." She said before turning to speak with some other officials.

Molly glanced at Sherlock, familiar with the nickname, before crouching next to the man.

He had brown hair, thinning in spots, combed back neatly. He wore a crisp button-down shirt that hung loosely from his thin frame. His trousers were plain, shoes not interesting. What were perplexing were the gashes and spots and cuts that oozed blood. Not fresh blood, and not gushing anymore, but his skin was battered and whipped and truly horrifying. You could never recognize the man's face. But his clothes were spotless, no wrinkles and no stains in sight.

"He's younger – perhaps late twenties. He is an avid athlete, judging from physique, and has some type or mid class desk job, judging from his clothes. But now – the cuts. The gashes." She took a glove from Lestrade and lifted his arms, inspecting his face, prodding at places.

"Gunshot wounds. Knife slashes. Whip marks. Almost any kind of weapon that draws blood was used on this man."

She lifted his shirt to expose his chest. Inhaling sharply, Molly ran a hand over the skin.

It was perfectly unharmed – not a scratch in sight. She looked under the sleeves, rolled up his trousers. Lestrade flinched at her moving the body so much, but didn't say anything.

"He must have been beaten and killed with the clothing on, or the killer was extremely cautious. The killer must have put fresh clothing on, but the wounds are so fresh, I don't see how it's possible. And why would someone go to such extents? Why not kill them in the normal, messy way?" She looked up at Lestrade, and then Sherlock. Taking a breath, Molly stood and unraveled the glove from her hand.

"How was that?"

"Moderate. You are improving greatly."

Despite everything, Molly beamed.

Suddenly, John whirled around the corner.

"Sherlock? And – Molly? What the bloody – is that a corpse? Good God…"

He put a hand to his head and walked to the group. "What on earth have I missed."

"You've missed nothing at all, no. Just Molly's exceptional deduction of the second un bled through victim. Oh yes – did I mention? Another murder without the blood on the clothing."

John stared at him. "Ok. Alright, great. Well what do you suppose this means, oh great and powerful Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock glared at the army doctor. "It means the killer is meticulous, ruthless, and doing this for fun. The suspicion of it being a man had decreased; the second victim is a man himself. The first victim was a girl – raped, beaten, etcetera, boring, boring. But this is a man. Why would a male murder take advantage of a girl, but go back and kill a man? Wouldn't he want the same gross pleasure? So it is more than one person murdering. First victim – female, raped. Second victim – male, shot multiple times and given a harsher death than the woman. So the female murderer is more vicious with her killings. She is the mastermind. She gave her first kill to her co-worker, to do what he pleased, to show they were in it together. So not murderer. Murderers. And not victim, but victims. There will be more, oh much more until we find the source of these killings." Sherlock took a breath, ignoring the stunned expressions of every soul around him. He was about to fire into a better explanation on the victim when John held up a hand.

"Alright mister 'I'm amazing at everything'. We get it. Why don't we wrap up and go to the morgue tomorrow."

Sherlock looked down at John, thinking.

"Fine. I will see you tomorrow with the body, Molly."

He then strutted down the alley, hand in his coat pockets, pajama pants fluttering from underneath the hem of the jacket. John rolled his eyes and followed short after.

"I cannot believe you made me do that." Molly said to Lestrade. Lestrade grinned.

"Listen, as long as I'm tangled in this mess of Sherlock, I'm going to push you straight into him."

Molly glared, heat rushing into her face. "How did you even know?"

Lestrade laughed. "Molly, _everyone _knows. You are not subtle."

"Ugh!" She whirled around on her heel, her white jacket flying behind her, and stomped down the street towards Bart's Hospital.

Back in 221B, Sherlock sat on the couch, thinking over everything that had recently happened, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Enjoying the case, Sherlock?_

_Missing you._

_JM_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey wow! Chapter two! So stoked – so excited. I really do hope you enjoy my writing style and the story. It's so much fun to receive emails and know that my fanfic is appreciated **** Anywho, enjoy!**

"Sherlock, why was Molly there?"

John sat across from his friend, a mug of tea in his hand. Sherlock didn't answer. His hands were folded as if he were in prayer and pressed up against his lips. His eyes were blank, crystal blue and glassy. John sighed, muttering to himself, "And here we go, with the mind palace. Bloody geniuses with their mind palaces…"

John sat and sipped his tea, waiting. Any minute now-

"Moriarty has placed spies on us – he's placed people to watch our every move." Sherlock burst out, lowering his hands. John blinked at him.

"Sherlock, Moriarty is dead. You _saw _him blow his brains out, right there in front of you."

"I'm not the only one that can, shall we say, _play dead._"

John stared at him, baffled. "So the criminal mastermind that almost killed me and, for that matter, _did _in a sense, kill you, is still running loose?"

"He would have had to go into hiding. His name was cleared, but I returned. He's believed to be dead, and he's dangerous. He can't just reappear."

"I really don't know what to do with this information." John stated simply. "Care to go for a walk? Oh, that's a stupid question."

"Stupid indeed."

"I'll be back then."

John strode out the door, shoving his mobile into his pocket and depositing his cup in the kitchen. Sherlock returned to his thoughts, curling into more of a ball and zoning out.

John turned left from 221B, walking down towards Bart's Hospital. He didn't really mean to, but ended up passing right by. He stopped and stared at the doors for a moment.

"John?" A voice said. He turned at the sound of his name.

"Lestrade! What are you doing down here?"

"We were going to deliver the body, actually, to Molly soon. I was just going to chat with her beforehand and make sure things are all good."

John nodded, thinking. "Shall I come? Pop in and say hi to Molly as well? I was wanting to ask her something earlier at the scene – rather, ask why she was there in the first place."

Lestrade nodded and they pushed the doors open into the cold, sterile hospital that always gave John the chills.

They entered the morgue, John lightly rapping his knuckles on the door. Molly spun around, a long black bag in her hands. She gave a quick smile before turning back to look at the slab in front of her.

"Hello! Did – did you need something?"

"Just dropping by. Everything ready for our delivery today? It could come late, but I –"

"Yes yes, setting up now actually." She unzipped the bag and laid it flat on the slab, smiling for effect. Lestrade looked pointedly at John.

"Oh, yes! Right; so Molly, I was just wondering why in the world you were at the scene this morning?"

Molly, with nothing left to occupy her, twiddled with her hair. "I – well Greg sent me to go grab you or Sherlock or, both I suppose and bring you there. It wasn't far from 221B, so…"

"You could have phoned!"

Molly turned a shade of pink and Lestrade laughed. He leaned over and whispered in John's ear.

"I'm trying to possibly set her up. It annoys her beyond all reason and is the funniest thing I've seen besides Sherlock drunk."

John smirked and let out a chuckle of his own. Molly frowned, crossing her arms. "Really now, you two are like children. It's not because of – what Greg just told you."

"So why did you go?"

Molly went from pink to red in the cheeks. John laughed harder, resulting in a smack on the arm.

"Alright, yes I know. You were there for important business."

"Is that what you consider business now? Sherlock?" Lestrade muttered to him. John bit back another giggle spell.

"Well Molly, it's been lovely, but I've got to dash." Lestrade said, smiling at the red head before pushing out of the morgue. Molly stared at John expectantly.

"Oh! Oh jeez, I'm probably getting in your way. I'll just be on my way as well-"

"Oh no! No, I've got nothing right now. I mean unless you have to go!" she answered quickly. John smiled.

"That's good, good. I was just out for a stroll is all." He took a breath. "Is Lestrade really trying to set you up with _Sherlock Holmes?_"

Molly sighed deeply. "Yes. And because it's Sherlock, he's oblivious and rude."

John nodded. "You get used to it, if you practically live with the bloody guy."

Molly giggled. "You forget I did live with him. Oh no, that sounds – I didn't mean it like that I just…" she put a hand to her forehead. "Perhaps you should go, before I make an even bigger fool of myself."

John chuckled and waved, departing. Molly breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God those two were gone._

"Oh I thought they'd never leave."

Molly froze, every nerve in her body going numb. That voice – it was unmistakable. An arm wrapped around her shoulder in a side embrace.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Moriarty." Her voice was quiet and squeaky. Moriarty laughed.

"I think Jim will do, don't you? Yes, Jim and Molly, those were the good days." He spun her so that they were facing each other. Molly held his stare, her heart threatening to stop altogether.

"So how's it going, Miss Molly? Doing well? Learning a lot?"

Molly nodded. Moriarty gave a wide smile.

"Oh come now, we're friends, you can talk to me." His hand gripped her shoulder like a vice. "Would you like to share with me how _exactly," _he squeezed her harder on the word. "How it's going, or would you like me to call Sherlock myself?"

Molly's mouth remained shut tightly. Moriarty sighed loudly.

"Always so stubborn, Miss Molly. Golly golly, Miss Molly, do you have good reception in this nice workspace of yours? May I see your phone?"

Molly didn't move an inch. Moriarty pouted.

"It's too bad. Although, persuading you is always _so _much more fun."

Moriarty clamped a hand over Molly's mouth just as a scream ripped from her throat. No one heard. Her captor grinned, shoving her against the wall.

"The pretty ones are always so defiant. Pity. Will you be quiet for your dear Jim?" he started to remove his hand, and Molly waited. As soon as his hand was at his side, she opened her mouth to cry out.

But Moriarty did something more terrifying than holding her captive. He pressed his lips to hers, silencing her completely. She stood stock still against the wall, grimacing and shutting her eyes as Moriarty explored her mouth and her body. He pulled away smiling.

"Pity indeed. Perhaps you'll cooperate now? I could always use my third method of persuasion –" he pulled the gun from his coat pocket.

"I'll talk." Molly said, closing her eyes tight and hanging her head.

"Good girl."


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm kind of pushing through this fanfic fast. I mean sure, it's only the third chapter, but still. I have noticed my chapters are shorter than most fanfics are but that's all right. This one is slightly longer. Enjoy! **

"John, what's your input." Sherlock said from the couch where he was lying. John snapped his head up, forgetting he was in the room at all.

"You want me to deduce the case?" he asked uncertainly. Sherlock sighed.

"Yes, John, that is in fact what I implied."

"I – ok then."

A rather awkward half an hour passed with John and Sherlock bickering and deducing and ultimately ended in John leaving the flat. "I was supposed to meet Mary an hour ago." John said hotly before taking a breath. "I'm assuming you'll be here when I get back?"

"Depends on when you'll be getting back. Considering Mary will be going into Labor right –"

He paused and John's phone rang in his pocket.

"Dammit, Sherlock." He said, his face going slightly pale, picking up and frantically leaving the flat.

"Mary? Ok, yes I'm on my way, _stay calm."_

Sherlock closed his eyes, muttering to himself. "_Children… ugh."_

Another couple of minutes went by when his mobile buzzed on the side table.

"Oh for God's sake, doesn't anyone know when to _leave me alone_?" he shouted exasperated. Trying desperately to ignore it, Sherlock started to pace, theories coming and going and ideas making his head hurt. His phone buzzed again, and he let out a loud groan of annoyance.

_Are you busy tonight?_

Sherlock broke from the cage of his thoughts and entered a different one entirely. Why would Molly want to know if he was busy tonight?

_It's fine if you are – you probably are, I was just curious._

Sherlock really had no idea what to respond. Molly, he knew, had broken out of her engagement recently. Did her – how did Lestrade put it… _crush _still remain? Of course it did. He chided himself for the silly thoughts and sent a text back.

_Working on a case. –SH_

And then, as an after thought, _You wanted to make plans, I assume? –SH_

_I was just thinking we could go to dinner perhaps._

Her reply made Sherlock think of the infamous Woman, Irene Adler and her frequent texts.

_Although I know that's not really your division I just – you know what, never mind._

Sherlock blinked at the screen, not sure whether to chuckle or chide the pathologist.

_Take out always works better, if you'd like. –SH_

Sherlock actually wasn't sure why he'd suggested Molly and he get together. Perhaps the short time they'd spent together after he faked his death had influenced him.

_I'll bring it, at five?_

Glancing at the clock, he sent a quick reply before setting down the phone and stepping into the bathroom. 3:00 – enough time to shower and perhaps get dressed.

A small voice in Sherlock's head slapped him across the face. _"What are you doing? For god's sake, it's not a date. It's Molly being Molly. And you have a case to solve!"_

Nevertheless, he showered and dressed in a black button down shirt and plain trousers. Still an hour before Molly came – he had time to think.

When Molly knocked on the door and popped her head in, Sherlock was on the verge.

"Oh hello!" Molly said timidly, coming in and setting a plastic bag on the cluttered table. Sherlock muttered things, saying theories and thoughts out loud. Molly knew to keep quiet until he was finished.

"You cannot change the bodies fast enough for blood to not stain the clothes-"

"So they were murdered on sight." Molly butted in, finishing a sentence for Sherlock. He snapped his head up and grinned, suddenly giddy.

"Christ, that's it. Not all of it – not nearly all but by god we're getting somewhere." He paced faster, words spewing from his mouth.

"It fits together –the clothing, the victims, and the killers oh Molly Hooper you are brilliant."

Sherlock strode right to the short girl and pressed a kiss to her forehead. And while the detective finished his brainstorm, Molly stood stunned by the kitchen table, her bag still over her shoulder, coat still buttoned up.

"This is fantastic, truly. Yes yes, _yes." _Sherlock settled down and finally returned to Molly.

"Hello, by the way."

Not quite knowing what to say, Molly gestured to the plastic bag. "I brought Thai – I hope that's ok."

Sherlock glanced from the table and back to Molly. "Yes, perfectly."

For another awkward minute, they stood there. Sherlock sighed loudly.

"Truly, if you are going to be awkward in every situation that comes along I suggest you leave."

Molly smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry – here, let me just…" she untied the bag and handed a box to Sherlock, who sat in his chair and ate. Well, eating based on Sherlock standards. More like grazing. Molly grabbed her own dish and perched in the desk chair, folding her legs underneath her.

"Is the case solved then?" she asked, twirling her fork in her hand. Sherlock looked up at her, actually taking in her appearance for the first time that night. Her hair was done up in a ponytail on the top of her head. She wore a simple patterned sweater and nice trousers. Little make up was applied – blush (although that was hardly necessary when she blushed by her own accord so often) and a small bit of lipstick. Molly blinked at him expectantly.

"Right, yes. Yes it's solved."

"Are you gonna tell me then? Or is it your secret." She teased, smiling from behind her take out dish. The corners of the detective's mouth turned up just the slightest bit.

"My secret."

Molly laughed, letting the silence that followed become less awkward. The tense feeling that had spread around the room just a moment ago slowly came away, bit by bit. Dinner was finished quickly, Sherlock quietly depositing his dish on the side table. Molly clucked her tongue.

"Here, give me that." She took his dish and placed it in the rubbish. "Shouldn't be leaving your left overs out. Just another thing for Mrs. Hudson to take care of."

When she turned around, Sherlock had his hands steepled, his eyes fixed on her in a calculating way. She pushed away her nerves, remembering that this man spent an extensive amount of time with her whilst he was 'dead'. She was used to him.

"You know what we should do? We should play a board game."

Sherlock looked at her like she was a child. "What? A _board game?_"

"Yes, you heard me. We're going to play – oh, how about clue? Oh, you'd beat me in a second if we played that game now wouldn't you? We could play sorry! Oh yes, that's perfect…" Molly looked around. "Where do you keep your games? Have you got a cupboard with em or something?"

Sherlock glared at Molly, not sure exactly what was happening. A board game? Somehow, a voice poked at him, saying it could be interesting. And Molly wasn't horrible company as long as she didn't evoke conversation all the time.

"Fine then, I'll look for them myself." She said simply, poking around shelves and cupboards. She muttered things along the lines of "such a mess" and "honestly, John would have had board games in here".

"Ha!" Molly called triumphantly, pulling Sorry from a low shelf and turning around. She nearly jumped out of her skin. Sherlock stood just an inch from her, looking down at her oddly.

"How do you play? God, I cannot believe you are making me-"

"H-hey now, I'm not _making _you do anything!" she said as confidently as she could muster. Despite how hard she tried, Molly wouldn't meet the detective's eyes. "I'll teach you. It's simple."

"I won!" Molly pumped a fist in the air, laughing and falling back into the cushions of the couch. Sherlock half scowled, half smiled. Mostly scowled though. "I won against Sherlock Holmes in a game of Sorry!"

"Yes, alright, that was established."

"Oh, don't be a sore loser. Here, have you got any champagne? This is worth celebrating."

Molly stood, walking barefoot into the kitchen, her shoes long forgotten. She had thrown them at Sherlock in the middle of their game. The fridge was thoroughly empty of any alcohol.

She sighed, inspecting the feeble shelves. "Honestly, Sherlock, nothing? You really-"

Sherlock tuned out, slowly standing and walking towards the opposite-facing Molly. He wasn't really sure why; it was like a rope was drawing him in to her. The thought didn't make sense tumbling through his head, so he ignored all thoughts and placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around.

The words caught in her throat, her breath coming in quicker increments. Her eyes met the calculating blue ones of her favorite detective. "H-hello." She managed to squeak out. Sherlock's mouth turned up at the corners.

"Molly Hooper. Molly… Hooper…" He cupped her head in his hand. She feared she might have a heart attack.

Sherlock's mind raced. What on _earth_ was he doing? _You're going to kiss Molly Hooper _a voice said simply in his head.

_Yes, but why?_

_Because you like her. You could possibly, in fact, love Molly Hooper._

Sherlock's mind voice scoffed. _Please. That's insane._

_Then why are you pinning her to the refrigerator and admiring her face and holding her head and –_

_Yes thank you kindly shut up._

And with a final scan over her face, Sherlock lightly pressed his lips to Molly's. If poor Molly wasn't shocked enough as it was, the way Sherlock kissed her almost made her faint. It was impossibly gentle and hesitant, and yet he knew exactly what he was doing and was confident about it. Molly let her hand slide into Sherlock's hair, feeling as he pulled his mouth from her own. Shivers went through her body as he whispered in her ear, his breath warm and light.

"Molly Hooper… my Molly Hooper…"

She pulled him back to her, giving a deeper kiss than before. After a moment of surprise, Sherlock returned her passionate intention.

"Sherlock…" she said on his lips, playing with his hair. "Sherlock I-"

"Sshhh…" he whispered on her neck, trailing kisses back up to her mouth. She shook under this new version of Sherlock, her heart beating at an unhealthy rate.

For a moment, their tongues wrestled for dominance, Molly trailing hers across Sherlock's bottom lip.

"Sherlock-" she whispered again, and when the man closed her mouth with his own, she pushed him back a step. His eyes snapped to her own, cold and calculating, scanning her face, looking for something he did wrong.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to carry away –"

Despite her rapid blinking, a tear slipped from her eye. She laughed a little. "No Sherlock, I love you, but-" any sign of a smile disappeared from her face and she let herself cry. Sherlock blinked at her in surprise.

"Oh my God, I'm going to die." She whispered, her voice squeaky with tears choking her. "I can't do this."

"Molly, speak clearly! What are you talking about?" Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. Molly sniffed and sobbed.

"Sh-sherlock you h-have to get ou-out of h-here." She hiccupped. And after a thorough scream-sob, she yelled at him. "Get out of here! He's g-going to kill you through me, you have to leave Sherlock!"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" He screamed at her, getting up in her face.

"MORIARTY! HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU!" she screamed back. And with a loud groan, she fell dead weight in Sherlock's hands. The detective swallowed hard, checking for a pulse, frantically trying to make sense of Molly's words.

Suddenly, a robotic voice echoed through the room. It came from Molly, but not from her actual lips.

"I knew this would happen. Pity. But she had given me extensive information, the doll. I'm coming for you, Sherlock."


	4. Chapter 4

**Ooooooh! Hello! I don't really have much to say, so have fun **

Sherlock couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything for a good minute. Or perhaps a minute and a half. He didn't know. And then his mind launched back to life, his hands flying to Molly. A weak pulse could be felt under Sherlock's fingers. He lifted her small frame, placing her gently on their couch.

He found a small chip, hardly bigger than a quarter, embedded in Molly's skin at the base of her neck. It was silver and blinking a red light at him mockingly. His fingers nimbly skimmed over the chip, deductions springing forth, words flying across his vision.

_Control – electronic – administers… 30- no, 40,000 volts directly into nervous system. Enough to deliver death-like unconsciousness. _

The red light blinked at him expectantly. Molly's chest rose and fell softly, every now and then a shiver trailing through from her head to her feet.

Sherlock began inspecting every other part of the pathologist and soon found a small belt-like box at her hip. A speaker and…

He tapped on the lens of a tiny, imbedded camera. With a swift tug, the spy popped out and Sherlock crushed it underfoot.

"Oh, that'll hardly help now."

Sherlock raised his head slowly and met the cold smile of Moriarty in the doorway. He rose calmly, standing taller than the consulting criminal, and yet somehow feeling small.

"Finally decided to show up."

"Oh, I couldn't bear being apart from you Sherlock. So much fun we have together." He buried his hands in his pockets and walked around Sherlock, looking down at Molly. "She was quite fun to have around as well. Oh, her little screams were _delightful."_

Sherlock blinked stiffly, maintaining the same position. Moriarty couldn't know he cared so much about Molly. He had to keep his outbursts bottled up.

But screaming? What had he done to her?

Not satisfied with Sherlock's lack of expression, Moriarty sat relaxed in John's chair across from the couch. "You know, when I dated that girl, she was nice. Annoying really, but a sweet little doll. It's too bad that those electric currents are going to kill her."

Sherlock stared at him, not shifting in the slightest.

"What do you want." He said simply. Moriarty looked offended.

"Isn't my company enough for you?"

"Tell me why you're here. Why have you been using her." he flicked a hand towards Molly. Moriarty twisted a silver ring around his pinkie.

"It's no fun spoiling the game before it's started. Miss Molly was simply a pre-game show. And wasn't her performance lovely."

When Sherlock didn't say anything else, the man laughed, the sound echoing through the empty flat. "Honestly, Sherlock, have you lost some of your luster while you've been away? You think I don't know how to push your buttons?" He laughed some more. "Pressure points are a wonderful thing. Oh, what was that fellow's name…" he tapped a finger on his lip and Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Magnussen." He whispered.

"That's it! Pity you killed him, he was a truly brilliant being-"

"He was insane. As are you, thinking you can kill me easily. You've already tried before."

"Who said anything about killing you?" Moriarty said, bugging his eyes out innocently. "I mean eventually, of course, but right now all I want is a little _fun." _He stood up and poked around the shelves, looking at experiments and knick-knacks. "Our new game is going to have some different players though, Sherlock. I overlooked someone last time. I won't be as careless now."

"You said she would die."

"She will. I never specified when."

"What did you do to her." he asked shortly. Moriarty sighed.

"I guess I have to tell you at _some point. _Miss Molly, since she was your newfound pressure point and, let's be honest, not bad on the eyes, I decided to ask for a favor. " He twirled a random pen in his fingers, grazing over John's laptop with his other hand. "I was polite. So very kind. All I asked her was, can you help me? And you know what she did to me, Sherlock? She slapped me, right across the face." He gave Sherlock a surprised look, nodding solemnly. Sherlock bit back a proud smirk.

"So you only see why I had to use other means of getting her assistance." He threw the pen back down on the table. "She had a lovely riding crop down at Bart's. Very persuasive."

Sherlock used everything in his power to not lunge at this man. He kept his breathing even, but shifted more protectively over Molly. His heart beat a million miles per hour in his chest, he was afraid Moriarty would hear it. He _beat _Molly.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the half of it. It only got worse.

"So for a little while, she was dutiful. She fed me information about yourself – where you were, what kind of cases you were on. Normal things. But she got testy after a day or two. So I tried a different tactic."

He suddenly stopped circling the room and looked straight at Sherlock, hands in pockets. His mouth was pulled into a twisted grin.

"That Molly knows how to pleasure." He said simply.

Sherlock was on him in an instant, Moriarty's suit jacket balled into Sherlock's fist. The consulting criminal hung from the consulting detective's hand about a foot off the ground. Sherlock snarled in his face.

"You _raped her_?" he whisper-screamed. Moriarty was grinning, laughing a little at Sherlock's reaction. This was what he had wanted.

"It was the only way to keep her obedient. You have to understand that, Sherlock. It was a loophole in the rules of our game. She was just a pawn."

Sherlock did not put him back on the ground. So Moriarty kept talking.

"Threatening was good too. I'll kill you, burn you, _skin you _if you tell Sherlock you're working for me. Things like that. And I always could keep an eye on her. That chip was useful for times she came close to blabbing, too. Sent a couple volts straight into that perky little body to set her straight."

"Leave." Sherlock whispered, barley audible. He threw Moriarty at the floor, towards the doorway. The man stood, dusting himself off with a huff.

"That's no way to treat your guests now Sherlock. I suppose I have prolonged our visit though. Toodles."

Moriarty strode calmly out of the flat, whistling a tune. The door at the bottom of the stairs closed, and Sherlock regained his composure, falling over Molly, checking her pulse again. It was steady, still weak. He inspected the chip again. Moriarty had the ability to kill Molly through this, and he would. He would in a heartbeat.

"Oh Molly," he whispered, lifting her shirt from her waist. Bruises and cuts and marks lined up and down her back. Pictures from his recent case flashed through his mind, and it took a minute to shake them away. He grasped Molly's chin, parting hair from her face. "My God, I did this to you."

He took the box at her hip and smashed it underfoot as well. No other remnants of Moriarty remained on her body but the chip. And he didn't know what to do about it. How Moriarty had installed it, he didn't know. Sherlock collapsed next to Molly and pressed his fingers to his temple.

Moriarty had _beaten_ her. He had _raped_ her. He had done things that someone should _never_ have to endure, just to have a spy on Sherlock. He stroked Molly's hair absentmindedly, waiting desperately for her to wake up.

Sherlock phone rang on the counter. He grumbled, sighing, but rising to answer.

"What."

"Sherlock?"

"Obviously."

"It's a boy!"

Sherlock blinked, registering John's voice, but having to catch up with his words.

"A boy what."

"A boy child, you idiot! Mary had a boy!"

Sherlock didn't know what to do with this information. "Alright."

"Aren't you happy for us?"

"Cannot contain my excitement."

He could see John rolling his eyes. "Well, when you want to be human, call me. What have you been up to, anyway?"

"I'll explain later." And he hung up. Because Molly stirred on the couch, her eyes blinking open painfully.

"Sherlock?" she slurred, and her eyes blinked wider, her body spazzing, her back straight as she sprang up. "Sherlock?" she called louder, quickly stumbling and landing back on the couch. Sherlock threw his phone down, grabbing Molly's hand and looking into her dazed eyes.

"I'm here. I'm ok. You're ok." He stroked her hair, breathing hard, looking over every inch of her, inspecting her. "We're ok."


	5. Chapter 5

***Makes ghost sounds and wiggles fingers suspiciously***** ? ?**

**Ok, I'm done now. Just so y'all know, receiving the emails that people like and are following my story means a lot. Thank you so much :3 Enjoy the chapter!** ***Evil laughing fades in background***

"We're ok."

The words fell from his lips without Sherlock knowing if they were true or not. But they seemed like to right thing to say, so he said them, again and again. "We're ok. It's ok. We're ok."

Molly stared at him, breathing hard, her eyes wild, her face pale. "You're supposed to be dead!" she squeaked, her voice choked, her hands trembling. "Moriarty was going to – oh God if I say another word he will truly kill me. I'm not dead yet, am I? Oh, I wish I was dead." She clutched onto Sherlock's steady frame, her intake in air faltering. Sherlock, feeling slightly bad about it, took Molly's shoulders and shook her fiercely. She was still and quiet.

"You're not dead. I'm not dead. No one has died." He said gently, running a hand up and down her arm. She smiled, just briefly, before falling into his arms. He embraced her, hoping he wasn't doing anything wrong. Hugging wasn't something he did often. Anything that had happened in the last three hours, he did not do often.

He did not play board games.

He did not snog his pathologist.

He did not almost strangle Moriarty.

And he did not hug.

But he still let her cling to him. He pressed his forehead to hers and placed a kiss on her lips. "My God, Molly, I am so sorry. So, so sorry."

She looked at him curiously. "What is there to be sorry for? I'm the one that –" she closed her eyes, her hand instinctively looking for the box on her hip. When she didn't find it, Sherlock took her hand in his own.

"It's gone. All that's is left it the chip and your scars. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have been put through this. Oh Molly the things he did to you I can never apologize enough for."

She squeezed his hand and gave him a determined look. "There is nothing for you to be sorry for, so stop apologizing. It was my choice to love you." She only paused for a second to take a nervous breath. "I was too stupid and scared to stop myself earlier."

With a shaking hand, Molly reached into her mouth, a finger prodding her cheek. A second later, she pulled a small, black chip that looked suspiciously like the one on her neck out.

"I was supposed to plant this on you. In your mouth, rather. That's why I stopped you from kissing me too long, and he shocked me. It would have latched onto your tongue and killed you, right then. I left it on me as long as I could, knowing he'd kill me instead if I didn't do it fast enough."

She threw the chip down and smashed it under her heel, picking a few shards off her bare skin. She looked up at Sherlock with sad eyes.

"I almost did it, Sherlock. I was almost selfish enough to do it, because I thought it might have stopped. I thought he might have spared you. Oh, I was stupid…"

Sherlock took her face in his hands. "Never say that. I would have rather died then to have you continue being his slave. Being abused."

Despite the situation, Molly melted under his intense gaze. She was almost reduced to a puddle by his tender words. She knew that this genre of words she would probably never hear again, so she drank in each one and catalogued them in her brain.

With a swift movement, Molly pressed her mouth to his, sparing just one more moment before turning her brain onto business mode. She shook off the last bit of haze from being shocked and took a breath.

"The chip is still in my neck, then?" she asked, a hand reached behind her. Sherlock, she could see, went back into Sherlock mode, standing and pacing and poking at her neck. "Yes. I don't know how it got in, and I don't know how to get it out without hurting you or damaging your nervous system. It is placed so close to central nerves of the brain stem and spine, one wrong move and you could die."

"But as long as that blasted piece of metal is in me, I'm still Moriarty's puppet. Any second, I could drop dead."

The realization of this passed over Molly's face for a second before she hardened her features. "It has to come out."

"Molly-"

"John. Call John."

"He won't be coming. Mary had her baby."

Molly felt horrible for saying it, but she spit out the words, "Babies can wait. My life, your life, and everyone's life in the world is at stake. Tell him those words. He's a doctor, and I'm in critical condition."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment before grinning. "That's what I want to hear from you, Molly Hooper."

Dialing on his mobile, it rang for a moment before John picked up.

"Hello?"

"Come to Baker Street. Immediately. You're needed."

"Sherlock bloody Holmes, my wife just had a _baby, _and you expect me to run off on a case?"

"I'm in danger. You're in danger. Ever person in London, in the world, is in danger. You're a doctor, and Molly is in critical condition."

The line was silent, and John hung up. Sherlock winked at Molly, who was now standing.

"He's on his way."

She smiled for a second before a thought bubbled into her head.

"What are you going to do about Moriarty? You can't let him go off and play his stupid game again."

"Of course I won't. He'll come to me, before anything else starts again. I can guarantee."

Molly was skeptical, but nodded anyway. After a minute or two of silence, Sherlock came up with an oddly emotional question. He didn't ever ask those.

Tonight was just a first for everything.

"Did you only kiss me back because of your… instructions?" he asked tentatively. He hated the boyish sound in his voice, so he put on a nonchalant face; acting like it was a nothing-to-consider kind of question, when in reality, the answer to the question meant quite a lot to Sherlock. Molly looked surprised.

"Of course not! I mean, the situation complicated things, but if I hadn't had that blasted chip in my mouth I might have-"

She stopped abruptly, her face flushing red. Sherlock smirked, but said nothing, remembering their intimacy earlier.

"Oi! What the _hell_…" John walked through the doorway, face red from running, chest heaving. He looked back and forth between Sherlock and Molly, his eyes murderous. "Sherlock, I swear to God-"

"I wasn't lying John. Molly is in critical condition-"

"She looks FINE to me!" he exclaimed, gesturing to a standing and red faced Molly. Molly tried to say something, but John kept going.

"You drug me here from my _new born son, _just to play a little joke? What do you need? Need me to make you dinner? Tuck you in?" he sighed and circled around, pacing.

"John-" Sherlock started.

"My son! New born son, and Mary, just left em!"

"John-"

"My wife! And my son!"

"John Watson, you listen here." Molly yelled. John and Sherlock both snapped to stare at the small figure. She nodded, satisfied.

"Moriarty has implanted a chip in my neck that could kill me at any minute, and I need you to disable it, or take it out, or both. Preferably both."

John stared dumbfounded at her. "Moriarty is dead."

"No, John, Moriarty is alive. He has, let's say, recruited Molly to spy on us, me specifically, and has thus given her a chip capable of 60-70,000 volts." He spun Molly around and pointed to the silver plate. "You have to remove it. Now. She could die any second, since Moriarty is in control." Sherlock stated.

John was still, looking from Molly's neck to Sherlock and back.

"Does no one die any more?" he asked exasperated, shaking his head before stepping up to Molly, looking at the chip.

"Sometime today, John." Sherlock said after a minute, impatiently tapping his foot. John swatted him away, inspecting the tender skin around the metal.

"Come with me." John said simply, and Molly followed him down the stairs and out into the dark streets of London.

Sherlock had his head in his hands, his mind lost in thoughts.

_Moriarty. Volts.____Coming for me. World in danger. New game._

_**Molly.**_

After confiscating the needed tools from Bart's, John had returned to Baker Street and was closed in his bedroom with Molly. Every now and again, he could hear gasps and yelling and "Please be careful." From Molly. Each time he heard it, his heart tugged at him, and he had to push it away.

After around fifteen minutes, John called out.

"Sherlock? C'mere, please."

Sherlock jumped up and burst into the room. What he saw made him slightly dizzy.

The chip was in John's hand, a square missing from Molly's neck. But wires and strings and bits and pieces were threaded from the device in John's hand _into _Molly's neck. John looked at him pleadingly.

"I need you to either cut it free or disable it."

Sherlock inspected the dozens of wires, poking and prodding, one hand always on Molly's shoulder, giving her a squeeze whenever she jumped in pain. After a minute, he sighed.

"No. All of the wires are connected, and by cutting them, we could disrupt her nervous system and brain stem. It's too dangerous."

"So…"

"We have to disconnect it, and keep it in her neck."

John stared for a minute before nodding. "Don't screw it up then."

Sherlock scowled at him, stepping to look at Molly. Her face was scrunched up, her eyes sealed tight. Sherlock lightly tapped her shoulder, and she peeked at him.

"You have to keep this in your neck, alright? I'm going to disable it so Moriarty cannot control you. He will hold no power over you when I'm done."

She gave a single nod and Sherlock carefully took the chip from John. He did something he had never, ever done before in his life.

He prayed.

Just a quick, _Please God don't let me f*ck this up._

For a good ten minutes, Sherlock connected and disconnected and twisted wires around, prodding at buttons and flipping tiny switches.

Pressing the sharp edges against Molly's open skin, he cringed as Molly cried out. John grasped her hands, and she clenched them, her face white, her breathing quick.

"One, two…" Sherlock whispered, and on a silent three, he pushed the metal back into place fully. Molly screamed.

"It's ok! It's done!" Sherlock shouted, taking John's place, stroking her hair, wiping a tear from her cheek. John stared, completely perplexed. Who was this and what had he done with Sherlock?

Molly sniffed loudly, slowly rolling her neck in a stretch. She cringed, but nodded, feeling the wet around the chip. John grabbed a rag from the bedside table and gently pressed on the fresh blood.

"I'm safe now?" she asked carefully, her voice soft. Sherlock had a placid expression on his face, determined.

"Yes. Yes, you're safe."

She sighed and fell into Sherlock. John's eyes bugged out of his head.

"This could be a totally inappropriate time, but what the bloody hell went on while I was gone?" he asked, tossing the rag away. John recalled the conversation he had had with Molly and Lestrade just this morning.

"Was Lestrade involved with this?"

Molly looked up at him, giving an amused smile. "No. No, you can thank Moriarty for this."

John blinked, looking at the floor for a moment, opening and closing his mouth like a fish before walking from the room, shaking his head.

"As long as you didn't have sex on our couch, I don't care. Don't want to know, don't give a damn. I need you to explain what the hell Moriarty is doing alive."


	6. Chapter 6

**Merp :P**

**Guys, thank you so very much. I honestly thought no one would even read my fanfic, but I mean, here you are. Self explanatory. **

**Hope you enjoy ~**

"In conclusion, the day I faked my death, Moriarty faked his as well." Sherlock stated, leaning back, hands pressed to his lips. John stared dumbfounded back at him, glancing at Molly.

"Did you know this?"

She looked at the floor, playing with a string on her shirt.

"Molly?"

"I – I don't –" she meets John's gaze, her eyes slightly glassy and out of focus. Her face is paler than it was just a moment before. She squints and blinks rapidly, pulling her legs to her chest. "John – Sherlock…. Oh please, no…"

It's like the last bit of a puzzle falls into place inside Molly's brain and she squeezes her eyes shut, crying out, pushing her hands in front of her like she's pushing someone away. "Please! No more, please." She yells.

"Molly!" John calls, standing, grabbing her shoulders. She screams louder. "Don't touch me! Oh please, not again!"

John quickly lets go, scanning her face worriedly. "Molly! It's me, Molly, John!"

Sherlock is at his side now. "Posttraumatic Stress Disorder." He states. "Don't touch her. Don't go near her. She's seeing things, thinking things that aren't happening. Just step back…"

The pair takes a step back, slowing their breathing. Molly is curled into the tightest ball possible, her body shaking, her eyes sealed shut. Tears slip down her face, and she whimpers every now and then.

When John glances at Sherlock, he sees something he's never seen before. Pain, welling up in his eyes, anger, and resentment. "How long does it last?"

"Common flashbacks last for the amount of time the event went on." He replied quietly. John nodded and looked at the floor instead of the shaking form that was Molly.

For a minute it was quiet. Sherlock took a step closer to her.

"Molly?" his voice was soft, gentle. John looked up as well.

Molly stared at them, eyes wide, hands clutched together at her chest.

"Sherlock? John?" she whispered, her voice scratchy from her episode. John nodded, dropping to her side. She flinched, burying herself into the cushions on the couch.

"Molly, it's ok." He whispered, scanning her face. Sherlock turned away, not wanting to look anymore. Something had come over him, seeing Molly in such mental agitation. He clasped his hands behind his back, knuckles white, trying to think of something else. It was easy – he just had to focus on one of the other million thoughts circulating in his head. What the hell he was going to do, for example.

"Sherlock?"

He tried to ignore it. Who was talking, anyway? Moriarty. He had to focus…

"Sherlock."

He turned and was met with big, brown eyes and a broken smile.

"Molly…" he replied uncertainly, taking one step closer. When she didn't react, he moved closer still. "Molly, how are you feeling?"

John's hand was holding hers loosely, and he took it as a sign he could close the distance. He bent down over her frame, setting a hand on her shoulder. She took a breath.

"I don't want to blink. Don't want to close my eyes. 'Cause I see it. In the dark."

"Molly, you have to do this. You have to close your eyes. I want you to close your eyes for just a minute. That's the only way we're going to get over this."

"I can't. I can't."

"Yes. You can. You're ok. It's only us here, John and I, no one is going to hurt you."

"But he's gonna come back." Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped from her eye, wetting her dried cheeks. John took her hand a little firmer.

"No no, Molly Hooper you aren't going to cry anymore." He said, gently wiping the moisture from her face. Her eyes never left Sherlock's.

"Molly." He said quietly, taking her other hand instead. "Just for a second. You have to see that it's ok. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you anymore."

Sherlock could practically hear John's questions and confusion and concern. But he wouldn't look at him. He stared down at Molly.

And she closed her eyes, and instantly her hands tightened on each of them. Sherlock glanced at John, just for a second, and tried to pass a message through to him. _I'll explain later._

After a moment, the grip on their hands loosened, and Molly opened her eyes calmly.

"See?" Sherlock said, helping her sit up. Her body was tense, but her eyes were focused. She took a deep breath, looking first at John, then Sherlock.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what-"

Sherlock promptly took her face in his hands, a fire burning behind his eyes. Molly shrank back, cowering, but he held firm.

"Molly Hooper don't you dare apologize for that. Not ever. You experienced something that no person should ever experience, and you have every right to do what you just did. You have every right to be scared. Do you understand me, Molly?"

She blinked at him, her bottom lip quivering. "Yes." She blubbed out before grasping his head and pressing her lips to his. He stared only for a second before returning the kiss, gently pulling her close.

Meanwhile, John gawked dumbfounded.

Sherlock pulled away, brushing hair from Molly's face before hugging her. She cried into his shoulder.

"He was so rough. Every crack of the riding crop…" she shuddered and hugged him tighter.

"I'm going to sound bloody awful interrupting but what the _hell _went on? What in the name of-" John shook his head. Molly quickly let go of Sherlock and sat up straight, wiping tears from her face roughly. A determined look was set on her face.

"No, you need to know. I'm sorry, John." Sherlock gave her a reproachful look, but Molly continued.

"Yes. I knew Moriarty was alive. He came to me at Bart's, asked for my help. He wanted me to spy on you and Sherlock. I refused, of course, so he punished me. Persuading, he called it. If I didn't do as he asked, he would punish me more. The first time, he used the riding crop on me. I was so shocked and in so much pain that I obliged. I fed him basic information, making sure not to get too descriptive and stretching the truth quite often. He knew. He implanted the chip, and shocked me." She closed her eyes, sighing, but thought against it and looked back at John. Sherlock sat entranced, a hand slowly snaking its way into her hand.

"It went on for, oh I don't know, a week or two with the crop and the electricity and the slaps. I kept defying him, and he kept punishing." She took a deep breath, her eyes pleading. "Please know that I only spied because the pain was too much. He stopped the beating if I agreed."

John put a hand on her knee. "For God's sake Molly of course, my God. I didn't know."

"That's not all." She said quietly and took a moment of deep breathing.

"I began to get particularly testy. I was through with this game of his. So he did something worse. He raped me."

John blinked in surprise and pulled her close, into an embrace. "Molly, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. My God, that bastard."

"After that, I was quiet. Mostly. He only ever raped me twice. Tonight, I was supposed to deliver a chip on Sherlock to shock him. I didn't comply, and told him Moriarty's plan. He shocked me. I quite near died, I think."

John gave her one more squeeze before letting go. The three were quiet. Molly yawned.

"We should sleep. We can better think of what the hell we're going to do after some rest." John said, yawning as well. The clock read 2:00 A.M.

Molly nodded, and moved to get up as John bid goodnight and went to his room, pulling out his phone to call Mary. Molly made an effort to look busy, but Sherlock stopped her.

"You don't want to sleep." He said quietly. She shook her head, staring at the floor.

"The dreams I've had…" she replied and shivered. Sherlock made her look up at him.

"You don't have to, but I really do think you need the sleep. And you'll be here. Wake me or John, or both for that matter, if you experience a nightmare."

She nodded sadly and made a little bed on the couch. She watched Sherlock walk down the hall not ten feet from her and smile as he closed the door.

She pulled the blanket up to her chin and rolled into a ball, her eyes wide open, but sleep gnawing at her brain. That's when she spotted it.

Sherlock's coat. Just hanging there, on the hook by the door.

She jumped up and grabbed it, turning around to make sure no one was looking. Although who would be looking? John and Sherlock were in bed, probably asleep by now.

She returned to the couch and pushed away the blanket, drawing the heavy coat around her instead, breathing in Sherlock all around her. And she fell asleep, not dreaming at all.

Sherlock stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He couldn't sleep, and probably wouldn't sleep. Sleep wasn't his thing. Especially when Moriarty had taken advantage of Molly and was now running all over London.

So when he heard someone walking outside in the living room, he sat up and peered outside.

Molly was still on the couch. But…

He took a step closer, exiting his bedroom now. Was that… his coat?

Taking one more step closer, he smiled. Molly was snoring softly, curled under his coat, a smile playing at her lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**I really didn't think I'd do this many chapters. I was thinking four, maybe five in my head. But hello chapter seven!**

**Sorry it's taken so long dearies, thanks for patience!**

**Ok, I need an opinion from you guys. If you could comment on this chapter what you think – should I do another fanfic about Sherlock? Am I any good at portraying the characters? Answers are much appreciated!**

John was busy making himself a cuppa when he heard the rustling of blankets and pillows. Molly's head popped up from the couch, her hair tangled and frizzy, and eyes squinty with sleep. John grinned.

"Morning, Molly. Cuppa?" he asked, taking a sip of his own drink. Molly rubbed her eyes.

"Shuh thh."

"What was that?"

She stretched, pushing her arms into the air and groaning. "Sure, thanks." She repeated clearer. John nodded, smiling as she got up.

"Sleep ok?"

"Slept… perfect, actually. Can't even remember what I dreamed about."

She came to stand in the kitchen, and when John turned around, he glanced at the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Wait –

"Is that Sherlock's coat?"

Molly's tired face instantly jolted awake, her face reddening. "I- yea, it is I… it was cold and-"

John chuckled, glancing around before looking back at Molly. "He's taken quite a liking to you. And I really cannot wrap my mind around it. Greg must have had _something, anything! _Anything to do with it. Sherlock –I've never seen him like this." He said quietly, taking the water off the stove.

Molly smiled slightly, shrugging the coat tighter around her frame. "I'm not really sure what happened. I just… I came over for different reasons, but I got him to play a board game –"

"_What?"_

"Yes!" Molly exclaimed, laughing. "And I _won!"_

"_WHAT?"_

"I know!"

The pair doubled over laughing and didn't notice Sherlock amble into the kitchen as well.

"What is so funny to you two?" his deep, sleepy voice echoed. Both doctors jumped in surprise.

"Just the fact that Molly Hooper beat you in –" he glanced at Molly.

"Sorry! We played Sorry!"

"Sorry! Molly Hooper beat you in _Sorry_!"

Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes as John fell over the table for support in his fit of giggles. Molly grinned, biting her lip.

When John had calmed down, Sherlock looked around in the refrigerator for something acceptable to eat. Molly took the mug from John, sipping her tea quietly.

"Oh, Molly, is that my coat?" Sherlock asked from inside the fridge. Molly choked on her drink, setting down the cup and tossing the garment over the couch, coughing loudly. John smiled into his own cup, and Sherlock smirked to himself.

"I – I don't know what you're…" she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, biting her lip harder. "Oh bugger."

John snickered into his tea, and Molly shot him a glare. Sherlock pulled some orange juice from a shelf and closed the door, taking a drink straight from the bottle. His eyes scrutinized Molly.

"For God's sake, just put on the coat I can _see _you shivering."

Molly smiled slightly, grabbing the long coat and wrapping it around her once more, grabbing her tea. The long garment hung to the floor since Molly was so much shorter than Sherlock. In fact, it bunched a little on her feet, longer than herself entirely.

A silence hung around the trio until John jumped back up into action.

"I'd love to help you guys chase around a dead man who is, actually, no longer dead, but I've got a son to see. And a wife, for that matter. I'll phone you Sherlock."

"Do just text, it's annoying when you call."

John rolled his eyes, winked at Molly, and left. Sherlock stared at the door for another moment before taking another swig of orange juice.

"Sleep alright Sherlock?" Molly asked, watching her tea swirl around in her cup. He grunted in response, throwing the bottle back into the fridge.

It was awkwardly quiet for a couple of minutes.

"Did you sleep alright?"

Molly looked up, surprised. That kind of question almost never rang from Sherlock's lips. He rolled his eyes. "Oh don't look so surprised. Isn't that what people do? Ask questions that are considered polite?"

"I- yes, ya I um… I slept brilliantly, actually."

Sherlock looked her over. She could see the wheels turning in his head, the gears shifting, his eyes scrutinizing.

"You feared last night that you wouldn't be able to sleep. That you would be plagued with dreams –nightmares, more like. And you weren't – now the only changing variable is the place that you were sleeping in but why would 221B be any different for you dreams than your own flat? So it's something else; obviously it had to be the coat. Yes, the coat, don't act like I didn't see it. When I heard someone moving about in the outer room my first reaction is to check whom it is, obviously. You were sleeping under my coat, quite soundly if I say so myself, but why would my coat let you sleep? We all know you've been infatuated with me for quite some time, so perhaps the coat served as a reminder? A reminder of me? How would that let you sleep peacefully"

"Sherlock, for God's sake, it made me feel safe."

The detective was quiet.

"Safe…?"

"Yes. Safe. The idea in my head – no. I'm not; I can't tell you that."

"Molly-"

"No. I can't."

"Molly, you can-"

"It's embarrassing enough to have you constantly reading me like a book! I don't need to share with you the reasons that your stupid coat made me feel safe!"

Sherlock was quiet. Molly rarely yelled at him, or ever raised her voice in general. It was a surprising sight, so Sherlock kept his mouth closed. Molly sighed.

"I'm sorry, I got a little out of-"

"No, I deserved it."

"I- wait what?"

"I deserved it. I do read you too often. You don't have to share anything that you don't want to." And after a quick nod, he said, "I'm going to get in the shower."

And with that, Sherlock strode off into the bathroom. Molly could hear the shower being turned on, the water running through the pipes.

It was suddenly quiet. And she was suddenly alone. Molly finished her tea and went to put it in the sink, but kept looking over her shoulder, paranoid, sort of scared.

_Don't be silly Molly. No one can hurt you here._

_Can they?_

For around two minutes, Molly sat trying to read a book on the couch. Fat lot of good that did. She only read one line before looking up, checking her surroundings, and then losing her place when she went back to reading.

Getting up exasperated and nervous, Molly looked around the flat. Her eyes landed on a shut door at the end of the hall.

She listened to make sure the water was still running before she quickly opened the door and slipped into Sherlock's bedroom.

Once in, she ignored the surroundings and clambered onto the large bed. The sheets wrinkled under her, and she pushed up so that her back was against the wall. Taking a deep breath, she smiled. Sherlock – the room smelled like and felt like and looked like Sherlock.

Because that was the reason she felt so safe. Under that coat, it felt like Sherlock was there. And Sherlock would protect her.

She opened her book and read without interruptions for a long time.

Molly didn't know how much time had passed when the door to the bedroom opened. She jumped as Sherlock's head poked in.

"What are you doing?"

Molly sprung from the bed, dropping her book and tripping over a loose-hanging sheet. She tumbled and landed on one knee, and when she tried to stand, she bumped into Sherlock and fell again.

Despite it, she laughed.

"I was camping out in your room, obviously." She said, making Sherlock's so often used word sound silly. He scowled at her, fighting the smile trying to curve up at the edges of his mouth.

"And why were you in here?"

With a loud sigh, she threw her hands up. "Fine! I'll tell you. And you'll think I'm even more stupid than you already do, but that's alright. Sleeping alone out there last night, I was scared. Terrified. But the moment I wrapped myself up in that coat it just _felt _like you. And I felt safe. Because you protect me. And when I was alone while you were showering, I came into your room. Because it feels like you, and you keep me safe. It's ridiculous, and I know you think I'm silly but-"

Sherlock abruptly took one step closer to Molly and gently took her head in his hand. Her lips met his in a whisper of a kiss.

"I don't think you're stupid, Molly Hooper. You are _brilliant. _And don't let anyone tell you otherwise."


End file.
